


Genuine hospitality is new to me

by Story781



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Cannibalism, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Holding Hands, Hugs, OOC, and eventually become his puppet for a while, cyanide bumps into mathieu and almost fucking dies, i lost the idea of what i wanted like halfway through so, i really did spend a lot of time writing about mathieu wanting to eat cyanide huh, mathieu doesnt know cyanide will work with db, next up: a ghost and an immortal idiot try to raise a kid, so shits wild, well mentions of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 07:49:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20467547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Story781/pseuds/Story781
Summary: An encounter not mentioned to mother, as it meant nothing and made Mathieu Bellamont feel nothing.





	Genuine hospitality is new to me

**Author's Note:**

> did i make mathieu sound lowkey touch-starved? maybe i did, maybe i didn't.

A thin layer of snow begun to cover his face, he's been laying on the ground for so long. The cold burned his skin, but he didn't mind, because that was the point. He wanted to hurt.  
It was all so peaceful. So quiet.

Someone stepped in the snow and he twitched. 

„Uh... Sir?” a voice questioned. A young woman, keeping her distance, he thought. 

He pushed himself upwards with great effort and turned his head towards the voice.

It indeed was a young woman. She wore a white shirt and a dark cape over her shoulders. The round eyes staring at him with concern made him wonder if calling her a girl wouldn't be more appropriate. 

„You, uh..." she began but seemed to catch herself before finishing. „Are you alright?" 

He didn't answer, only looked away and dusted the snow off his face. The woman looked around, before kneeling next to him and removing her cape. She moved to gently wrap it around his shoulders. She then got up, patted the brown trousers and outstretched her hand towards him.  
It took him a moment but he hesitantly grabbed it and stood up. How polite. 

The two stood there in silence for a moment. The stranger rubbed her arms slightly and shook her head to try and get the snowflakes out of her hair. Her eyes skipped over the scenery as if looking for any change in it. 

And he was staring. If someone didn't know what was on his mind, they'd say he finds the woman attractive, but that was not the case. 

He was... a little hungry. For a certain kind of meat. He still had some back home, but fresh was usually better. For him.  
She didn't look very muscular but her arms and legs looked like they had some fat to them. If prepared well, she'd make quite a nice meal. Or maybe two if he took care. 

The person in question herself snapped him out of this little, food-related fantasy by placing a warm hand on his cold face. In fact, it was so warm in comparison, that the touch was burning, much like the snow did. Her hand was as soft and gentle as the snow, too. 

„You really are freezing. We should get inside. Somewhere.” She suggested, turning away from him and moving towards the road nearby. She stopped after a few steps, to check if he was following.

Offering to take a stranger home. How... naive. But how lucky for him. He'd both get some fresh meat and a place to eat it right away. 

He moved forward the way she led him. Some of the snow got into his boots as he walked. At one point the cold wind intensified, bringing what was about to become a storm, and their field of vision shrunk. Her hand found his and she pulled him after her, her pace quickening. Her palm felt oddly nice.

They reached a house. Wooden, no different from any other house along these roads. The woman laid her hand on the door and stopped completely. She turned her head to look into the man's eyes. A kind, yet stern look. 

„What's your name?” she asked.

He didn't really expect that question, although he should. 

„Mathieu” he answered shortly, his hand slipping from hers. 

„Hm," The woman raised a brow. „I like it," she said, shrugging and pushing the door open. 

She invited him inside with a gesture and he closed the door behind him. The inside was cluttered, full of books and trinkets, two seats in front of the fireplace, one of which was apparently used as more of a bookshelf than a seat. 

„I'm Cyanide" she continued, squatting next to the fireplace, to light it with a spell. 

„It doesn't sound like a real name." Mathieu noticed, wrapping the cape tighter around himself. It had a nice fabric and really did warm him up a little. 

„It's what I've been ever since I remember.” she sent him a melancholic, warm smile and reached for the kettle above the fire. „Sit down. Make yourself at home. I'll see if I have something to drink”

She left. The man shifted in his place, eyes drifting to one of the seats. It looked a little odd. But comfortable. Had some pillows resting against the back. The melting snow would soak into it. 

Mathieu let himself sink into the cushions, tilting his head back slightly. Above the fire hanged a painting. A young woman slow dancing with a skeleton in a dark room. There were bloodied decorations on the walls and weapons scattered on the floor. The topic was fine, but the execution he didn't like. 

Cyanide entered the room and handed him a bottle of mead, just to disappear again. There was no kettle. She came back with a plate and set it down on a small table between the seats. 

„Didn't expect to find someone like yourself," she said, moving a stack of books out of the free chair. „So that's all I have ready." 

It was pieces of meat, obviously cut into irregular shapes, covered in bread crumbs and then roasted over a fire. An odd idea, but who was he to refuse, if she was being so nice. 

The woman herself put a bowl of different greens in her lap and seemed content with that. 

„It may or may not be good," she warned him, stuffing a carrot into her mouth, as he reached to take the plate. „I haven't tried it myself yet." 

His brows furrowed with concern. He stared at the meat for a short while before finally taking a bite. 

It wasn't... bad. But it wasn't really good either. He was going to finish it, yes, possibly even somewhat enjoy it if he didn't put his mind to it, but definitely wasn't going to try making it himself. That kind of food. 

„I don't like that face.” Cyanide tapped a finger-shaped potato against her lips, curved into a nervous grin. „That you're making, I mean. Not the one you have.” 

„It's... it's fine.” Mathieu shrugged, leaning back into the chair. He turned his head towards the wall away from the woman and continued his dinner. He still felt her eyes on him. 

They finished their meals in silence. Only the fire and the storm outside disturbed it, but both were quite pleasant sounds. The girl leaned on the side of the seat with her elbow and watched the shadows on the wall. 

„So...!” she started, pushing herself up. „Where do you live? I could walk you home and...”

„Anvil.”

„Or not.” 

She crossed her arms on her chest and avoided eye-contact almost as much as he did. She sighed, slowly and deeply, raising one hand to rub her forehead. 

„I'm going to... sleep on the chair then," she muttered, the palm moving to press against her mouth and her eyes looking up at the ceiling. 

Mathieu tensed and turned his head just a little bit towards her. He wasn't panicked, but his expression said something else.

„Don't look at me like that, it's late, I'm not letting you out today." She outstretched her arms dramatically, putting on an angered expression. „And you sir are a guest in this house." 

„I really can go home, thank you very much.” He almost jumped out of the chair. Something in his knees hurt but this was no time to mention that. 

„Well, the thing is, I'm not letting you go home at this hour, in that snow, especially that Anvil is quite literally on the other side of Cyrodiil!" 

She had her hands on her hips, her voice was stern and commanding. And she looked absolutely stupid from Mathieu's point of view because she was shorter than him and looked at most half his age. Honestly, how was she even planning to stop him? 

He turned his head towards the window. The wind outside was tossing the snowflakes around ruthlessly. It was all just white. And nightfall was quickly getting closer.  
Mathieu thought of his poor mother back home and immediately grew worried. He wished he could have been home with her, but he was stuck in this small, wooden house instead. 

His hand ran across the edge of the dark cape he still had on his back. The woman was... well, not exactly polite, as it turned out, but... nice, he guessed. She didn't treat him bad. Her hands were soft. 

Speaking of which. Cyanide gently took his wrist while he was looking out the window. She ran her thumb across his fingers and tugged him towards a closed door. She opened the other room and let him in, not locking when he entered. 

"Stay the night. It's no problem."

It was a small bedroom, with a bed set against two walls, under a window. Next to it was a nightstand, with a burnt-out candle and a book. It had no title and no text. 

Seeing the woman disappear back behind the back of the chair, he sat down on the mattress and rubbed his arms. Just one night, he reassured himself. His mother will be fine. The man who lived upstairs was too scared to come down to the basement anyway. 

But something else bothered him as well. He came here to kill and it seemed like that wasn't what he'd end up doing. It was just that... he didn't expect her to be like that. To take a stranger home and give him dinner and, and a bed and... it was odd. She must have been either really stupid and naive or incredibly confident in herself and her ability to defend herself. 

He curled up on the bed, facing the wall. 

Hours passed and Mathieu couldn't fall asleep. Not that it was unusual, he had trouble sleeping all the time. 

He rolled out of the bed, slowly, and moved towards the door. He peeked out of the room. The fire was still burning, but it was now the only source of light in that part of the house. He wondered if it could burn the place down. 

He stepped out of the room and walked up to the two seats. To his surprise, Cyanide really did sleep on one of them. Hands under her head, knees almost pressed to her chest. She looked peaceful. He could stab her. She'd wake up and look up at him with those scared eyes because she wouldn't die right away. And he'd stab her again. Watch the blood flow and warm his hands. Warm them the same way her palms did. 

But he didn't feel like it. He didn't want to think it, because of what happened last time and because of how much he loved his dear mommy, but she was just the tiniest bit like... like Her.  
His brows furrowed when he had to think Her name again, as it pained him in so many different, conflicting ways. Cyanide was just the smallest, tiniest bit like Maria. Just because of the way he didn't despise her and the way she treated him. 

He glanced at the painting above the fireplace. Maybe this time she wouldn't be so disrespectful. Maybe she'd understand. This time there was no connection to the Brotherhood, so maybe, just maybe.

His gaze fell back onto the woman in the chair. Carefully, he moved a lock of hair behind her ear. Her face was warm, too. The regret of not getting to have eaten her for that day's dinner stung him. If she was so soft when alive, would her meat be soft and delicate as well? 

Or maybe she was better like this. Breathing, dreaming. She could dream. Seemed so unbothered by night terrors. Mathieu found himself hoping one day he could too. 

Realizing he was looming above Cyanide, holding himself up on armrests from either side of her, he stepped back and pulled his hands to himself.  
He promised something to mommy. 

Looking around the room, as if he hasn't seen it just a few hours before, his eyes stopped on the chair, separated from the other by the table. He could... maybe rest there. Look at the fire. Fall asleep if he was lucky. 

He took hold of the seat and moved to it, pulling it closer to the table as he did. He was trying to put the cushions in a comfortable place when he heard movement to his side. 

His head snapped towards the sound, hand ready to reach for the dagger on his belt. 

But it was just Cyanide, barely awake. She raised her head slightly. 

„You okay, buddy?” she asked and if Mathieu wasn't sure if she was still somewhat sleeping before, he was now. 

„I..." He turned his head to the seat, tension leaving his shoulders. „I'm fine. Just can't sleep." he admitted. 

„Mmh, poor you...” she mumbled, turning over in her chair and resting her hand on the table before falling back asleep. 

Mathieu held his breath for a few seconds after, hoping he won't wake her up again. When he finally decided to breathe, he climbed into the other seat and did his best to get comfortable. Once he found a way to stay on and not hit the floor, his eyes drifted towards Cyanide's hand. Her fingers were turned to the space between him and the wall opposite the fireplace. It was close enough to hold. 

Was it an invitation? 

He twisted and turned a little more, before giving in and laying his hand on top of hers. He slipped his fingers between hers and squeezed lightly once. It was... a little calming. A little. It made falling asleep just a bit simpler.

But he still had the same nightmare he always did. Everything was darkness but a small strip of light just above the floor. His hands pressed to his mouth, not to make a sound.  
And then he walks in. The boots that he too now owned in reality thumped against the wooden floor as he, as this thing, the man who ruined everything, walked towards the bed. 

Mathieu knew what he was going to see next but the dream didn't allow him to escape from it. He couldn't close his eyes and turning his head did nothing, every direction was that direction. 

He woke up before it happened, for the first time since he could remember, and when he did, he sprung up in the chair. And he hit something with his head. 

„Oof, alright, ouch!" Cyanide stumbled back and would have fallen into the fireplace if Mathieu didn't grab her sleeve. 

She caught her balance and looked at his hand. 

„Think I'm gonna have a bruise," she mumbled absent-mindedly, rubbing her forehead. 

„I, I didn't--”

„Maybe I--”

They both stopped and stared for a moment. Mathieu stayed quiet for longer than she did. 

„I wanted to say that maybe I shouldn't have woken you up is all.” Cyanide shrugged, gently taking his hand away from her shirt. 

„No, no, no, no, it's...” He stood up, almost bumping into her again. „It's... a good thing you did.”

„I mean you did look like you weren't having a good time." She took a step back because there was barely any space between them at that point. She continued before he could answer. „But! Either way! You're up! Probably still want to go home." She threw her arms open, taking an oddly dramatic stand. „I could walk you, if you want." 

„All the way back...?” he asked, slightly concerned. It'd be good to know how she reacts to him living in a basement of a lighthouse, but maybe some other day.

„Well, no, that's pretty far. But I could walk you to the closest inn along the way.” She shrugged and rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly. 

They left a few minutes after that. Mathieu finally took the cape off and gave it back to Cyanide before leaving. He did his best to hide his face in the shadow of his own hood though. She'd seen him much the past couple of hours, but it made him more comfortable. 

The day was much better than the previous one. It was still cold, as usual in this part of the empire, but the sun was out and the snow shined in its rays. Pretty. 

Cyanide led the way and Mathieu followed, keeping his distance. She'd stop from time to time and check over her shoulder if he was still there. The first half of the way she rambled about various things. The weather, how she liked his cloak, which later evolved into talking about clothing in general and he could have sworn she at least once mentioned events she couldn't have seen in person. 

She went silent once they entered a warmer, even sunnier part of Cyrodiil. Her head tilted back and arms stretched. He could hear her sigh in content when he got closer. She looked almost as peaceful as when she was sleeping. 

The sun was setting when they reached the tavern. Cyanide stopped and turned to him, hands on her hips.

„And I guess this is where I drop you off," she announced, once she cleared her throat. 

She stared at his arms for a moment, before opening her own and moving in carefully. She raised her gaze to ask for permission.  
He hesitated, but leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her. He felt her hands on his hair, a finger messing with his ponytail.  
„Mmmh..." she smiled into his shoulder. „It was nice meeting you," she whispered, as she pulled back. 

His hand lingered on her wrist for just a few seconds, but he only nodded in response. 

„Until next time then!” she moved back the way they came, waving him goodbye. 

Mathieu stood in his spot, watching her walk away and rubbing his fingers as if that would keep her touch on them for a little longer.

Even away from his mother, these past two days weren't too bad.


End file.
